Heartless: A Small Town Single Dad Romance(22)

And maybe she is. The secret is that even though I try to act like the tough, mature big brother and dad, I’m dying inside over blow job jokes.

I’ve just been spending all these years faking that I’m ultra-responsible, hoping that I can fake myself into believing it. Most days I do, but moments like tonight I wonder what I’ve lost in the process.

I wonder if I’m still applying what responsibility looked like to me as a child to the life of a full-grown man. Because that’s what I was when I stepped up in the wake of our mother’s death—a child.

Maybe that’s why I allow myself to eye-fuck the hell out of Willa Grant as we walk back to the dining room. Her round, apple ass, the confident sway of her hips, the spot where her waist nips in—

the thought of holding her there.

The feeling of following her brings out something primal in me.

Like, under different circumstances, I’d chase her. I’d take her. And there wouldn’t be any blowback because she wouldn’t be Luke’s nanny. And the fact that I’m this much older than her wouldn’t matter because I wouldn’t give a fuck.

“Wow, Harvey,” Willa announces as we walk into the dining room. “It looks fabulous out there.

You blew the hell outta that lawn.”

I scrub a hand over my face as the table erupts into giggles. Harvey included. Bunch of children.

My dad is grinning so wide, his eyes twinkling at the gorgeous redhead currently pulling out her chair next to my son, who’s peering around the room, genuinely confused by what we’re all losing it over.

I shove away a spark of jealousy over the way my dad and Willa are smiling at each other.

Because that is insane.

She was just so excited over me laughing. Over me smiling. She smiled back. It felt good. And now she’s in here giving that megawatt grin to other people, who are grinning back at her. And I feel like I want all her smiles for myself.

How hard would it be to smile more, to laugh more, if it made her look this happy?

“We’re going out.” Beau points at me, using that military voice that hedges no debate. Or at least he thinks it does. “Dad’s taking Luke for the night. I want some fun before I deploy again.”

I frown. “No.” This little fucker has never been able to tell me what to do, and I’m not about to let him start now.



“Yes.” His thick brow arches at me.

I’m about to fight back, but Willa turning her strawberry lips up at me stops me in my tracks.

“Come on. It will be good for you.”

My brows knit together as I stare down at her.

The nanny.

The nanny. The nanny. The nanny.

The nanny shouldn’t look this fucking good to me. The nanny shouldn’t know or tell me what’s good for me.

And I shouldn’t listen.

But I’m an idiot, so I respond with, “Fine.”

Luke cheers and runs over, flying into his grandfather’s lap. Probably because he knows they’ll eat food that rots their teeth and stay up too late watching movies that I’d never approve of.

The small smile on Willa’s angelic face catches my eye, and without even thinking, I give her a small one back.

We walk into The Railspur, the best bar in town. It used to be the only bar in town before Chestnut Springs started growing with city folk moving out this way to live the country lifestyle or some cheesy shit like that.

And I’m pretty sure Honky Tonk Sundays are designed just for them. It’s the night when they all play cowboy dress-up and line dance or two-step, and just generally pretend they aren’t high-rolling city slickers.

If I weren’t so annoyed by it, I’d find it funny.

It feels like everyone in our group is a local celebrity of some sort. Rhett the retired rodeo king, Beau the military hero, and Jasper the hockey sensation—even though he avoids attention like the plague.

I’m just the brother who runs the ranch, the one whose woman left him with a child and more responsibility that he reasonably knows what to do with.

It’s the nudge of Willa’s shoulder against mine that keeps me from diving into a huge well of self-pity. “This place is so cool.”

I thought she’d take off with Summer. The two of them had a serious case of the giggles in the back of my truck on the way over here. I’m pretty sure I heard Summer say something about peeing a little, and that’s when I tuned them out.

“Yeah, I guess.” I survey the bar as we make our way toward our favorite spot at the back. The one with big green leather couches and a roaring fireplace.

What do people call this? Cowboy chic? That term has always amused me. Cowboying has never seemed all that chic to me.

The place is warm, all dark woods and fireplaces, ornate chandeliers. It’s changed a lot since the days when I’d come here more regularly. Now I only ever come when my brothers drag me out.

“Do you come often?” Willa asks.

“What?” My brain takes that question in a different, sex-starved direction.

Her lips roll together, not missing a goddamn beat. “To this bar? Do you come here often? God, I don’t know if that’s really any clearer. I mean come like c-o—”

I close my eyes and say a silent prayer for patience and a flaccid dick, holding up a hand. “I know what you mean and the answer is no.”